


you cannot fathom this

by kuro49



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: F/F, Father/Son Incest, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 13:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1900737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You take a trip out there to the Pacific Rim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you cannot fathom this

**Author's Note:**

> ahahahaahaha idek what this is, feel free to ask for clarifications upon finishing. Written with Elephant's Shapeshifter on repeat.

You are always going to end up here, at the edge of the water, having fallen in love with the dead. The pungent stink of ammonia, of Kaiju blue, trailing after even though you’d rather smell blood in the water.

 

“You’re humming, old man.”

There is grease on your hands, some on his cheeks, and a song in your head. You stand up straight and his eyes follow as you stretch, the sweat-drenched tank riding up as you stretch your arms above your head, feeling the sun on your back with a wrench in hand. It looks nothing like the equipment you can take to a Jaeger.

“I’m happy.”

And you’re not lying this time.

 

You are neither the first nor the last to see your future in snatches of what must be dreams. What you are though, you are alive.

 

You retire at forty-five and you take a trip out there to the Pacific Rim.

It takes you exactly six months since Pitfall to extract yourself from the PPDC. You leave Hong Kong behind and you take a trip. The sky doesn’t rain the day you leave, the sky doesn’t acknowledge much in the aftermath of what the Kaiju razed of Earth.

 

You saw the clock stopping but you don’t hear that it is your voice.

 

“What did I tell you ‘bout being a hero?”

She is always going to worry, more so when you’re coming home from deployment in a sling, your collarbone broken in two places, your arm in three. Your shoulder is old news, barely thirty and already aching when it rains. She is careful when she helps you out of your shirt, more so when she has your face in her hands, eyes boring into your own, looking like she is demanding for an answer she knows you don’t have.

“I was hardly one, Ange.”

She shakes her head, kissing you, a single word whispered just for you.

“Liar.”

 

You can see the future.

But you don’t see this coming.

 

Because the fact remains that you were always going to be stupid, and brash.

 

And so, you lose her first.

Angela Hansen who takes your name, and _first_ is the word you use because you know, there will be much more to come.

 

You land on your arm all wrong, breaking that collarbone twice now from when you were young and stupid and didn’t think it could hurt this bad. The only thing you are grateful for, broken bones and all, is that there is no drift connecting you to Chuck. This is yours alone to bear, and if there is one thing you can protect your son from, it is yourself. And if this is just one thing you can protect him, then it is still one more thing.

 

You see the future but you learn not to change it.

And you don’t need any other reason aside from: Scott.

 

You travel five countries.

You don’t think you are looking for anything out here, you don’t think you will find a worthwhile thing. Trying not to cling to that desperate hope that losing your kid to the bottom of the ocean is forgivable if only you’d saved a thousand others in return.

You don’t think you would find a thing.

You have always believed that you were going to die an old, old man.

 

(These two things are not mutually exclusive.)

 

You each take a flare gun, and if this doesn’t go down in history as the most Australian thing you could do, well then, what is the point of doing something so stupid? Your shot doesn’t entirely miss but it is Chuck’s that hits the ugly son of a bitch in the center of its eye.

 

You saw that single moment of contact more than you felt the pain, you saw Chuck yelling but you never heard the words of _don’t disengage_.

 

“I’m not coming back from this, dad.”

You don’t say what you want to say, don’t say a thing of what you need to say. It is Chuck who is running on what’s left of the drift, one mind barely imprinted on the other. It’s not much to go on but it’s been more than what the two of you have ever had before.

“I know.”

You don’t turn away when he touches a hand to your jaw.

And you don’t turn away when he presses his mouth to yours.

 

To atone, Hercules is ordered ten labours.

He completes twelve.

You’re not him.

 

It is a stab in the dark, full moon reflected in the waters laced with blue.

You have more Kaiju kills to your name than anyone else.

But it is the ten, the ten kills stamped across your heart that matters.

 

You want him to fuck you a little harder but you don’t ask. You want him to leave you worse for wear, not holding back. But pushing you forward, forward until you are falling over the edge in your entirety.

 

You find him on your trip to the Pacific Rim.

You find a man that might or might not be Charles Hansen but he calls you _old man_ all the same. You’re looking to the future, and for the first time, you’re seeing nothing even though this distinctly reminds you of a time in the past you’ve seen the future, time and time again.

There’s music in your head shapeshifting into a song.

 

“You’re humming, old man.”

You might be dreaming, but it’s the best dream you’ve had since Pitfall.

You find him on the Pacific Rim, and you stay with him. And this time, you’re not standing in the shadows of Striker. You’re standing beneath the sun, his eyes not looking away from yours, his hands reaching out for you, grease from his making smudges across yours.

“I’m happy.”

You tell him, and he doesn’t call you a liar only because he’s been in your head.

 

XXX Kuro


End file.
